Speed wasn’t an issue, because trolling motors were not made to go fast anyway, which also meant if he had to turn around now…well, he’d have better luck jumping into the ocean instead. They didn’t call him half-dolphin for nothing, after all.
Up close, the docks looked much bigger than it had from afar, especially without a single vessel tied in place. He guessed at least two or three dozen numbered (and very empty looking) slips, some bigger than others. That made sense since there weren’t a lot of other ways on or off the sea-locked landmass except by boat that he could see. Maybe there was a small airstrip somewhere he hadn’t been able to spot, but he thought it unlikely given the uneven nature of Santa Marie Island.
Once he finally slid past the day markers, “No Wake” signs, and other warnings that surrounded the island, he was sure the boy wasn’t going to shoot him. The teenager continued to hold the rifle at the ready in front of him anyway, forefinger in the trigger guard for a quick lift-and-shoot motion, if necessary.
Smart kid.
“You got a name?” Keo shouted, before realizing he was close enough now that he could have asked in a normal voice.
“Gene,” the kid said. “You?”
“Keo.”
The kid gave him a look before saying, “What kind of name is Keo?”
“Chuck was taken.”
Gene gave him a confused look. “Hunh?”
“Just a joke.”
“Oh. You Chinese or something?”
“Or something.”
Another confused look.
At the ten-meter mark, Keo said, “You’re not going to shoot me, are you, Gene?”
“If I was gonna shoot you, I would have done it already, don’t you think?”
“Good point. Just wanted to make sure, that’s all.”
“Sure’s sure.”
Keo didn’t know what that meant, but he decided not to ask. He said instead, “You alone, Gene?”
“No.”
For some reason, Keo didn’t believe him.
Gene held up his rifle. “I got my friend Deuce here with me.”
Keo grinned and angled the boat toward the dock before switching off the motor and letting his forward momentum take him into one of the slips.
“What now?” he asked.
“I dunno,” Gene said. “I guess we tie up your ride and you come up.” He shrugged. “Work for you?”
Keo nodded. “Works for me.”
“All right, then.”
He tossed his line over and Gene tied the boat in place.
Up close, Gene had bags under his eyes. He clearly hadn’t been sleeping well and hadn’t for some time now. He was wearing fingerless wool gloves and the sun glinted off large-caliber bullets around his waist, housed in their own individual loops. The getup made him look like a bandit out of a Western, the rifle almost bigger than both his arms put together. The scope on top was massive, which explained how he had managed to put holes into Keo’s boat from such a long distance. Even an amateur could have managed that. If the teenager had just been a little better, Keo would be fish food by now.
Thank God for amateurs.
He climbed onto the dock while Gene gave the boat a cursory look before asking, “You said you have supplies?”
“MREs, bottled water, and beef jerky.”
“What kind of water?”
“Filtered.”
“Where’d you get those?”
“From a hotel.”
“No shit?”
“Nope.”
Keo looked around at the rocky ridgeline of Santa Marie Island, taking in the still houses to the left and right of him. He didn’t know what he expected, maybe more…life. Instead, it was like looking at a vivid painting rather than a real place that people actually used to live in.
“So how long have you and Deuce been here?” he asked.
“For a while now,” Gene said. “Who was it you were looking for?”
“A woman named Gillian.”
Gene shook his head. “Never heard of her.”
“You didn’t even think about it.”
“Don’t have to. Never heard of her.”
“Well, shit.”
Gene shrugged. “Sorry, man.”
Keo sighed.
Yeah, you and me both, pal.
CHAPTER 2
“Where is everyone?” Keo asked.
“What you see? That’s it,” Gene said between mouthfuls of cheesy lasagna. Or what was supposed to be lasagna, anyway. The kid didn’t seem to notice the difference though.
They walked up the road from the marina, passing houses with overgrown lawns and stalled vehicles along the curb and driveways. Santa Marie Island looked frozen in time, a picture of what once was. He didn’t have any trouble imagining that things were exactly like this a year ago. He kept expecting to see a housewife in a flower-print dress and apron calling her husband, who would likely be busy mowing the lawn, in for dinner. Or a dog barking. Or kids on bicycles swerving up and down the sidewalk, trying not to hit him.
But there was none of that.
Instead, there was just the quiet, the overwhelming smell of abandonment. He wondered how the people on the island had learned about The Purge and how they had reacted. There were very few barricades over the windows, which told him they hadn’t been prepared when the end came.
The streets were curved, rarely staying in a straight line for very long, and there was a noticeable incline almost as soon as they began walking away from the marina at the southern tip. Santa Marie Island was big enough for more than one subdivision, including the expensive luxury houses along the ridgeline. The ones inland to his right looked like cheaper options. Though even “cheap,” he imagined, was probably still pricey, given the locale.
Location, location, location, as the saying went.
“Ferry,” Gene was saying, looking at him. The kid must have been reading his mind. “There’s another marina on the other side. It’s twice the size, and there’s a big ramp just for the ferry.”
“They got here by ferry?”
“I think so.”
“I don’t see it anywhere. The ferry.”
“It’s gone. Someone took it. Or sunk it.”
“Not in these waters. A sunken ferry would stick out like the proverbial sore thumb. Unless they towed it out into deeper waters and then did the deed, which doesn’t make sense. Why go through all the trouble?”
“I never thought of that.”
Keo looked back at him. “Where do you stay at night, Gene?”
“I move around. You can’t spend more than one night at the same place.”
“Why not?”
“They know.”
“They?”
“Yeah. They.”
“They’re still here?” Keo asked as his hand instinctively reached for the MP5SD hanging off him by its sling.
“Won’t do any good,” Gene said. “I’ve put a.308 round right into one’s head, blew its brains out, and nothing. It just kept coming.”
“Are you using silver bullets?”
“Silver bullets?” He stopped eating momentarily to stare at Keo.
“They work.”
“The fuck you say,” Gene said.
Keo smiled. “Anything silver works. Something about the metal interacting with their bloodstream. You have to get it inside them, though. So shooting’s the easiest way-the safest way by far-but stabbing them with something silver works just as well.”
“What are they, allergic to silver or something?”
“Beats the hell out of me. I just know it works.”
He pulled out a spare magazine from his pouch and handed it to Gene. The kid thumbed out a round and held it up. It was midday, and the warm sunlight glinted off the smooth silver tip. Gene eyeballed the bullet with intense fascination, pieces of lasagna clinging to his chin, though he was blissfully unaware of it.
The kid finally slipped the bullet back into the magazine and handed it to Keo. “I’ve seen some silverware in a lot of the kitchens. Maybe I can use them as weapons.”